Last Sunday, while the priest was delivering his homily and my mind was wandering off (as is the case in most of us, although a few would care to admit it), I was jolted back to reality by a line in his sermon which went: “I met a couple, who after having several children said, “Father, itong huli, aksidente lang to.” I can almost hear the tone – half-apologetic, half-ashamed – much like a child caught with his hand inside the cookie jar. It’s as if what they did in the dark or with the lights on (depending on one’s preference) and ultimately its product is something to be ashamed of.
Imagine if all of us were products of accidents. Well then I said to myself, maybe that would explain a lot of our idiosyncrasies. And it would sure be a very valid excuse for not doing our best; for not being in our best behavior; for after all aren’t we all just products of accidents?
But it would be grossly unfair for a child to be branded as such, for it connotes a myriad of things – from being unplanned, unintentional and worse, unwanted. I believe that a child, no matter how or why he was conceived or what the circumstance of his birth is, should be given all the love he deserves and be welcomed into this world. After all, it’s not his fault or his desire to be born into this imperfect world from an even more imperfect set of parents.
I am the seventh child in a brood of nine and maybe I too am an “accident”, but I never heard my parents say that. I may be an ‘accident” but they made sure that I was welcome and gave me the kind of love they gave their first, second, third and even up to the ninth child. I have never felt nor did I ever think that I was one, although as my husband would say I’m the prettiest accident he ever met (although some would opine that love is blind…). But I am digressing, the point is one should be accountable for his acts and all of the consequences, thus there should be no “accidental children” only “accidental parents.”